


A Flower That Resembles You

by jiwoosone



Category: LOONA (Korea Band)
Genre: Angst, F/F, Hanahaki Disease, Like LOTS of angst, but i made some changes, im sorry, im sorry hyejoo :(, loosely based on the truth untold by bts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-29
Updated: 2018-08-29
Packaged: 2019-07-04 02:58:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15832365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jiwoosone/pseuds/jiwoosone
Summary: if maybe back then, just a little, just this much, i had gathered my courage and stood in front of you, would everything be different now?





	A Flower That Resembles You

_what is your name? do you have somewhere to go?_

Hyejoo sees her first at a market. She’s there only for basic necessities, with a huge, black hood over her face; everything about her screams she doesn’t want to be there. Which is what she’s going for, granted. She’s buying apples when a flash of golden hair catches her eye. She turns to see a girl she’s never seen before, buying bread at the next stall. She seems to notice Hyejoo out of the corner of her eye. She turns to her and smiles.

Hyejoo feels a shot of adrenaline course through her and bolts. She doesn’t mean to, really, but something about that girl had set off an uncomfortable, but not unwelcome fluttering in her chest, something she had _not_ been prepared to deal with. By the time she makes it home, there are three things she remembers of the girl: one, she had been the first person to ever smile upon seeing her. Two, she had been covered in a thin layer of grime, like the people Hyejoo saw living on the street. And three, she had been, without a shadow of a doubt, the most breathtakingly beautiful person Hyejoo had ever seen.

She slumps down on her sofa in her large, cold living room, suddenly overcome with the need to see her again. Which is ridiculous, of course. She doesn’t even know her name, and even if she did, she has no way of seeing her again. So really, it’s better if Hyejoo forgets about the golden-haired girl. She know this. It’s not good to get attached to people outside, anyway, she reminds herself. Not when you’re Hyejoo. When you’re a Son.

People in this town didn’t particularly like Sons, for a reason long forgotten. They tolerated her enough, when she covered her face and stayed indoors most of the time. And when her parents had passed years ago, Hyejoo had retreated even more into the huge, cold mansion that had belonged to them. That’s right, Hyejoo reminds herself. Sons don’t have connections. They don’t make friends. And they certainly don’t fall in love with golden-haired girls they see once in marketplaces. So Hyejoo will forget about her.

Tomorrow, of course, Hyejoo finds herself back at the market. It’s stupid, she tells herself. The girl probably wouldn’t even be here. She looked poor. She wouldn’t have enough money for a second day of shopping. Hyejoo, despite her better judgement, searches for three hours when a flash of yellow hair appears for a second down a dark alleyway. Hyejoo should go home. This won’t bring anything good. She growls under her breath and walks to the alley, ducking behind a broken lamp post when she hears the voices discussing in the shadows.

“Will you trust me for once?” It’s the girl. Hyejoo’s breath catches in her throat. There are two other girls next to her. One has light brown hair and almond shaped eyes, and the other has pouty lips and two chestnut buns pulled tightly on the top of her head. They’re pretty. Not as pretty as the girl, Hyejoo thinks, and immediately scolds herself. There’s no use thinking thoughts like that. “I’m telling you, Haseul. Just wait a little, it’ll pay off, I promise!”

The girl with the almond eyes sighs deeply. “It’s not that I don’t trust you. We love you, you know that.”

The other girl, the one with the two buns pipes up. “Yeah, even when you’re a pain in the ass.”

Haseul glares at her. “Yeojin!” Yeojin laughs.

Haseul turns back to the girl. “I’m just worried about you, Chaewon. This sounds very dangerous. You might get hurt. You know we don’t have anywhere else to go. Are you sure?”

The girl starts to protest, arguing with Haseul, but Hyejoo all but tunes this out. She has a name now.

Chaewon.

There’s no use in trying to forget her now.

Hyejoo stumbles her way back to her house, very emotionally exhausted. She doesn’t remember the last time she’s—gosh, the last she’s _felt_ this much. It’s the middle of the day, but Hyejoo finds herself slipping into slumber.

In her dream, she is at the market again, but this time she is with Chaewon. They’re buying roses together, and she’s laughing. It’s clear and ringing, like a wind chime on a breezy day. God, she’s beautiful. She turns to Hyejoo, and she can see affection in her wide brown eyes. She reaches up and pushes a lock of her raven black hair behind her ear. She can feel Chaewon’s hand linger on the side of her face.

Hyejoo wakes with the realization she has never heard her laugh.

 

_there’s no name you can call me_

There’s a beast in the castle; everyone knows that. Villagers tell stories among themselves in hushed whispers, about the monster at the end of the street. It kidnaps little girls who are bad, and they never to be seen again. It drinks fresh goat’s blood in the morning and eats infants’ fingers at night. It gains immortality from the misery of orphans. Hyejoo knows and hears all of this, of course, from her excursions out of the manor. People generally avoid tall girls in black cloaks, but they don’t suspect them. So she learns of all the tales and myths around her home, really by accident. A conversation here and there. The terror and hatred of the entity they have made up.

So it’s a bit shocking when Hyejoo finds someone stealing the flowers out of her garden in the middle of the night. (For anyone else, being awake at that hour of the night might be strange, but Hyejoo’s prone to late nights. Very late nights. The kind of late nights that very often turned into early mornings.)

The first thing she feels is rage. Those small-minded villagers spread horrible rumors about her, her parents, force her to live in isolation, and now they steal from her very own garden? The only thing she can really care about anymore without worrying it’ll be scared of her?

She straightens her back. Very well. If they want a monster, they’re going to receive a monster.

She stops when she sees a flash of gold in the moonlight. It couldn’t be. Hyejoo ducks underneath her windowsill and peers over the edge. The figure turns, revealing their face—and two wide, horribly familiar brown eyes peer right back at her.

_Chaewon._

All of the anger drains out of her, as quick as it came, and it replaced by that fluttering feeling. Did she see her? Chaewon doesn’t seem to, though. She turns back to the flower bed, making quick work of her hyacinths. Not all of them, Hyejoo notices. But the biggest and the prettiest. Chaewon leans over the dirt one more time, but this time it seems more like she’s placing something there rather than taking. She spares one final glance at the mansion before she disappears into the night.

After she leaves, Hyejoo climbs out of the window, not bothering to use the door, and leans over the flower bed. There, tucked into the soil, is a small, slightly crumpled note. Involuntarily, Hyejoo feels a small smile spread across her face. Shaking the grains of dirt off, she reads the words scrawled onto the paper.

_I’m really sorry, Mr. Monster, but I really need money, and flowers are in huge demand down in the village, and I heard yours are the best around. So I came and took a couple. I’m really sorry. It won’t happen again._

_-Gowon_

Hyejoo laughs quietly. She used a pseudonym. Smart. And also very, very cute. The writing is large and slightly childish, like a person who hadn’t completed much education. It was probably a wonder she spelled everything correctly.

Hyejoo feels a flash of concern. What kind of condition is Chaewon in, if she’s stealing from a monster’s garden in the middle of the night? She remembers the conversation she’d heard before, with Haseul and Yeojin. Haseul had told Chaewon she was worried about getting hurt. Was this what she had been talking about? Hyejoo sighs. If only Chaewon could simply ask her. She’d help any way she could.

A few nights later, Chaewon is back. Hyejoo doesn’t see her this time, only discovers the note and the missing violets in the morning. It’s written in the same simple handwriting.

_Hi Mr. Monster, I’m really sorry again! But me and my friends are really in trouble! And you didn’t really stop me even after the first time, so I’m sorry if I’m pushing it!_

_-Gowon_

She comes back after that, too. For weeks, every three or four days Hyejoo finds half a flower bed missing, and a dirty scrap of paper in its place. Hyejoo, out of her own stupidity, collects them. She’s got them lined up on the dresser in the corner of her room.

Chronological order.

It’s ridiculous, but Hyejoo can’t stop. She even points her in the way of the best, probably the most expensive flowers through signs, since her garden is expensive and very easy to get lost in. (which Chaewon makes sure to thank her for in her notes). She collects memories of Chaewon, every gaze and expression, every movement she drinks in. She’ll never actually talk to her, of course. There’s a million reasons behind that, but it doesn’t matter. Hyejoo is content with looking at her from a distance.

She’s planting a new set of violets when it happens. She’s fine one moment, and the next there’s something in her lungs, climbing, scratching its way up her throat. It’s blocking her airway, she can’t _breathe._ A blind sense of panic seizes her, her hands claw at her throat and she starts coughing, coughs that rack her body, she just wants whatever’s in her esophagus _out._ A vague memory flashes in her mind, something her parents told her long, long ago—the reason it was so dangerous for Sons to fall in love, something about a disease, and then she sees blood on the dirt, blurred from tears, and all her insides feel raw and grated and her throat burns from screaming, and finally, after hours, after years, the thing begrudgingly falls out of her mouth onto the wet dirt.

It’s a hyacinth.

 

_garden of loneliness_

As the weeks go on, Chaewon starts getting more comfortable with “Mr. Monster.” Around the fourth week since the first theft, she even signs it off as Park Chaewon.

_Haseul doesn’t think I should be doing this, because she thinks it’s dangerous, but you don’t seem all that dangerous to me. I think you’re a nice person. You didn’t report me, and you even help me, which is very kind of you. Anyways, I’m sorry again, but me, Haseul and Yeojin are going to run out of food really soon. They don’t deserve to starve, especially Yeojin. She’s Haseul’s younger sister. She’s kind of a pain, but I love her._

That night, thorns tear throat as she coughs up perfectly red roses.

It’s called Hanahaki, she learns. Her mother contracted it when she was twenty-four—when she met her father. She had only been saved by her father’s returned feelings. Which presented a problem. Because theoretically, Hyejoo could confront Chaewon. Befriend her. Maybe do even more. But she knows that will never happen. It’s dumb, but Hyejoo can’t— _won’t_ approach Chaewon. Even if it means she dies.

It’s not a bad way to die. A month ago, Hyejoo would have despised this kind of ending, but Chaewon—Hyejoo decides anything is worth meeting Chaewon.

Her mother’s journal states that she has three weeks. Three. Hyejoo tries to quell the rising panic in her chest. It’s strange; she doesn’t have anything to live for, and most of her days she wished for her life to end, anyway, but not seeing Chaewon makes anxiety sweep through her systems.

 _Okay, okay. If I have to leave her_ —Hyejoo squeezes her eyes shut— _then I’ll leave her with the best present I possibly can._ Her eyes snap open. _Smeraldo._

She runs to the library, which takes up a good part of the house. There’s not much to do when you’re stuck in a cold, dark mansion for your entire life. It takes a couple hours, but she finally finds a dark blue book in the far left corner of the library. There’s no title; instead, there’s an intricate gold detailing of the most beautiful flower she’s ever seen. One that doesn’t exist. Yet. Hyejoo sits at an old oak desk and opens up the book. The pages are old and the text is fading, but Hyejoo is determined. Once she reproduces this flower in her lungs, she can give it to Chaewon, and she won’t have to steal anymore.

Maybe she’d even want to meet Hyejoo.

The thought rips through her like a bullet. She’s never thought about it, never even considered that maybe Chaewon would want to meet her.

But Hyejoo pushes the thought far away. Even if it could happen, she needs to perfect this flower first, and she can’t do that while daydreaming about Chaewon. The days pass quickly. There’s a lot to do, researching and trial and error, and Hyejoo finds she doesn’t even have time to be in the garden anymore, and even when she is, it’s only for mandatory upkeeping. Her mind is all consumed by the thought of Chaewon looking at her, smiling at her. She wakes in the middle of the night thinking of her hand in hers. The letters from Chaewon are scattered on her desk. The flowers emerge from her mouth more and more frequently. She doesn’t bother picking them up.

 

_in this garden, in this world_

On day fourteen Hyejoo starts to panic. There are seven days left—god, there are seven days until she dies. But she still hasn’t made smeraldo. She runs her hands through her hair, laughing hysterically. Who knew the monster in the castle would spend her last couple days trying to make a _flower,_ dying from a disease contracted from love? She feels a flower coming in through her throat. She’s gotten used to it, even if it’s not terribly comfortable. She squeezes her eyes shut, hoping for a perfect, sky blue flower. What falls out instead are baby blue petals, but Hyejoo smiles anyway. It’s the closest one she’s ever produced. Hurriedly, she writes down the mixture of tonics she’d used to get the flower and gets back to work.

On day sixteen, Hyejoo can’t stop coughing. Apart from the first attack, the flowers have been relatively bearable, but this one just won’t stop. Hyejoo curls up on her bed, spitting crimson blood onto her perfectly white sheets, wanting it to end already. Her entire body burns. Is her death coming early? If so, Hyejoo just wishes it wouldn’t take this long. She feels petals, pressing against the back of her throat, taunting her. Flowers from the girl she loves, coming to kill her.

As the sun sets, Hyejoo spits out three slightly crumpled smeraldo blooms. With pale, trembling finger she picks them up to admire them. They’re even more beautiful than the book had described—the dying sunlight catching the gold lines etched into the petals, running from the center. It looks like Chaewon, Hyejoo thinks happily.

By day eighteen, Chaewon hasn’t come.

By day nineteen, Hyejoo starts to wonder.

By day twenty, Hyejoo can’t sleep.

On day twenty-one, the very final day, with bags under her eyes, with petals and blood around her mouth, her shoulders shaking with coughs, not bothering to throw on her cloak, Hyejoo grabs a flower and rushes down to the market.

It’s not hard to find the alley where she saw Haseul, Yeojin and Chaewon. All of them are still there—everyone except Chaewon. Haseul and Yeojin are leaning on each other, heads cast down. They spring to their feet when they hear Hyejoo walking towards them, immediately defensive. Haseul lays a protective arm over Yeojin’s figure. Yeojin’s eyes are ringed with red. They take in Hyejoo’s profile, their faces flickering with confusion and concern.

“W—who are you?” Haseul asks at last.

But Hyejoo can’t do this. “Where’s Chaewon?” Her voice is cracked and broken, mixture of not using it and sheer pain.

“How do you kno—”

“Where’s Chaewon?” Hyejoo cries desperately. “Please. I don’t have much time, just please tell me.”

Yeojin speaks up. “She’s dead.” She says quietly.

The world goes blurry. Hyejoo’s ears start ringing. “What did you say?”

Haseul looks at Hyejoo with sympathy. “I’m sorry. She had a serious illness. She was trying to raise the money to buy the medicine but—” her voice breaks, and she composes herself. “—Chaewon died two days ago.”

The world goes blurry. Everything seems like it’s underwater. There’s a flower in her chest, thorns in her mouth, she can’t feel anything, and Haseul is coming towards her cautiously, but Hyejoo _can’t_ so she runs, clutching her flower until it crushes the stem.

She’s running through the market, past the stall she met her. Chaewon’s wide brown eyes. Her small hand picking the flowers. Her golden hair in the sun. Hyejoo is suffocating in Chaewon’s memories, every word, every note, every glance, all the small moments Hyejoo stole.

 _Chaewon Chaewon Chaewon Chaewon Chaewon Chaewon Chaew_ —

There are flowers falling freely out of her mouth, onto the street now. People’s eyes are pressing onto her, and she collapses. Hyejoo is sobbing, she’s dying, she’s so, so alone. People are all around her, talking to her, asking her what’s wrong, trying to help. They will never know she is the monster in the castle.

Hyejoo feels the sharp pang of regret in her gut. If only she hadn’t spent so much time on this stupid flower, she could have spent more time with Chaewon.

Just one more time. Let me see her one more time.

Dirt and blood and tears are on her tongue. The pain shoots through her entire body, down to her fingertips. She’s starting to seize up, the result of a lack of oxygen. The world is all around her, but Hyejoo only feels Chaewon. She feels her grip on the world start to slip. The chattering gets quieter and quieter, until there is only silence. And the dark.

I don’t know where I’m going when this is over. Just please let it be with her. Please. Please.

_i still want you_


End file.
